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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650776">You're gonna carry that weight.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/feitan420/pseuds/feitan420'>feitan420</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Study, Gen, Introspection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/feitan420/pseuds/feitan420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Reno takes a moment to reassess himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You're gonna carry that weight.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You know, Reno, I think you might be due for some R&amp;R.”</p><p>Reno toyed with his bandages. If it were any other day, he would have fired some smart ass remark at Tseng for his condescending comment. Oh, but it was certainly not just another peachy day at Shinra.</p><p>Instead, Reno spared his boss a pointed glance at the expense of yet another pang of intense pain pulsating through his beaten body. He grit his teeth. <em> Fuck those Avalanche assholes. </em></p><p>“Nah, I’m good,” Reno spat, struggling to hold that sharp tongue of his from pushing any further. He resigned himself to laying limp in the office chair. Reno hated a lot of things, but defeat definitely made the top of his list. By the skin of his teeth he managed to drop the plate, but he sure as hell didn’t finish settling his personal business with Mr. First Class and his merry little band of bastards. He didn’t linger too much on it; the low voice of his partner dulled the reverberating aches and pulled his attention back.</p><p>“What are we going to do about Sector 7?” Rude asked. He studied Tseng, apprehensively awaiting his response. Reno noticed the slight unease that laced his partner’s voice which, in turn, made him uneasy. He braced himself for another harsh wave of aches.</p><p>Tseng briefly looked up from the pile of paperwork littering his desk; his eyes and expression remained neutral. Cold. Reno resumed playing with his bandages.</p><p>“<em>We </em> are going to do nothing,” Tseng coolly replied. </p><p>Rude pressed further, trying his luck. “Been thinking...was all that necessary?”</p><p>Reno shifted uncomfortably at his partner addressing the unspoken question that afflicted his mind and confounded his actions, harbored a dissonance he couldn’t quite sweat out. It was nearly unbearable now, the pain—<em>or was it guilt? </em> Reno wasn’t sure and felt foolish even considering the latter. Turks don’t feel guilt; they don’t feel anything.</p><p>“Had we refused someone else would’ve completed the task. We have spared that someone the burden of a guilty conscience. Perhaps that will ease yours.” Typical Tseng to answer as if he had already rehearsed the damned script for this inevitable conversation. <em> Tch. </em></p><p>Reno refrained from rolling his eyes. “Yeah...nope.”</p><p>Tseng set his pen down with a <em> click </em> that made Reno wince as he conjured up another sorry excuse. “Let’s try another tack then. They were a sacrifice to balance the scales.”</p><p>“Say what?” Reno couldn’t even bring himself to laugh at that bullshit.</p><p>Tseng, as always, kept his composure. “After everything we’ve taken from the planet we were due to give something back.”</p><p>“Do you actually believe that?” Rude retaliated. Although slightly amused, his words dripped with doubt. Reno sensed his partner’s shaded eyes searing through their boss’s crumbling lies. </p><p>“Does it matter?” <em> End scene</em>. Tseng finally dropped the act, signaling no further room for discussion. Silence ensued. Rude lowered his head, clearly dissatisfied.</p><p>Reno detected a wraithing, twisting turbulence within him now—resentment, confusion, regret—seething, simmering, raw emotion, louder and stronger than any physical pain he had ever experienced. It prickled his skin and churned his guts; Reno wanted to vomit. <em> What the fuck is wrong with me? </em></p><p>He had never wanted to go home so badly.</p><p>*  *  *</p><p><em> Fuck. </em> Reno closed his eyes. Breathed in, breathed out. Clenched knuckles turned white. Beads of sweat slid down his cheeks; even with the window open and fan on he felt as if he were slowly melting into his bedsheets. <em> Fuck this.  </em></p><p>Reno propped himself up and sat on the edge of his disheveled bed. Darkness swallowed his room, save for a sliver of moonlight that peaked through the tree branches outside of his apartment window, casting a small spotlight on himself. He sat there for a while, soaking in the luminescence, watching it glow brightly upon his scarred skin—bright, like flames flickering, burning, screaming. Reno swiftly retreated back into the dark as reality once again preyed upon him, petrifying him. </p><p><em> Thousands. </em> Thousands of people died today, because of him. Because he pushed the button, he dropped the plate, he carried out the mission...did his job. So then why the hell did he feel so damn <em> guilty? </em>Frustration fed upon him like a parasite as he tried reasoning with himself, but he just couldn’t.</p><p>Reno was no stranger to blood on his hands; he knew his role from the start. Took pride in it, even. Tseng has connections in just about every nook and cranny of Midgar. Rude specializes in low profile reconnaissance work. Elena can deconstruct weapons or machinery and perfectly put them back together again. Reno...Reno is just unbreakable—a true avatar of chaos unbound by trivial things such as rules or reason. And yet he, in all his unbreakableness, sat still in the dark, struggling to hold fast against the crippling weight of his sins.</p><p>Reno walked alongside death for as long as he could remember. Hell, when you grow up in the slums, you grow up fast. He was twelve years old when he first killed another human. Nothing fancy, just stabbed a guy who tried to mug him. He remembered how warm the blood felt upon his flesh as it sputtered from the man’s heart—the salt of it upon his lips, the pathetic pleas drowned out by repeated blows to the chest until an eerie quiet. It felt unsettling at first, sure, but once the adrenaline sparked through his veins, igniting his soul...he felt fucking unstoppable. Invigorating.</p><p>Survival in the slums depended on tucking away unnecessary feelings. Reno killed to survive, and once the Turks plucked him from the streets and forged him into a murder machine, well, killing just became part of the job. Reno didn’t mind that; he was happy to play the part—be a real evil bastard—as long as he could have some fun. <em> Tch...some fun. </em></p><p>Reno flipped the light switch on next to his bed and decided he’d had enough of himself being sober for today. He trudged into the kitchen, making a beeline toward the fridge. After sarcastically mumbling a little prayer to whichever of the gods gave a shit, Reno swung open the fridge door, pleasantly surprised upon discovering an unopened bottle of cinnamon whiskey: his favorite. Snatching it, he twirled around and rummaged through an adjacent drawer where he unearthed a pack of smokes. <em> Success. Now we’re getting somewhere.  </em></p><p>Reno waltzed out to his balcony after taking a few swigs of the whiskey; it burned his throat good. Now welcoming the moonlight, he leaned against the cool railing and lit a cigarette. A faint breeze whisked away some of the embers, and Reno watched with tired eyes as the night gently carried their glow away like fireflies dancing in the summer evening. He felt less trapped now, more grounded. </p><p>After taking a couple more drags from his cigarette, Reno paused and let the smoke swirl around him in a haze. He was okay, right now. So he tried again. Reno recounted almost every mission he undertook with the Turks—every assassination, every kidnapping, every rescue, every recon. Memories flooded him, but he refused to drown. Reno dug it all up and allowed himself to feel and think not as his acting role “Reno of the Turks” but instead as just...Reno. </p><p>He leafed through crimson memory after crimson memory; it was simple, really—connecting the dots. Pinpointing missions where, with a swing of his electro-mag rod, a <em> sizzle </em> and <em> crack, </em>he sent some unlucky soul to face Ramuh’s judgement far beyond the plate. But, to be honest, those unlucky souls deserved it. Most of the time. </p><p>Targets jeopardizing Shinra? <em> Dead. </em> Idiots daring to stand in his way during a job? <em> Boom, bitch! </em> Some annoying asshole whistling in an elevator? <em> Eh...Okay. </em> Maybe that guy didn’t actually deserve to fry, but he certainly put the cherry on top of Reno’s already bad day. Sometimes you gotta let off some steam, and as long as you didn’t make a scene, Shinra didn’t give a shit. Especially if you’re the Turks’ second-in-command. </p><p>Besides, what was one poor soul to thousands in a single day? Thousands of folks, mostly innocent. Some families, some homeless. Kids who dreamed of seeing that boundless blue sky nestled behind smog and steel. Maybe even kids who were like him, perfectly content festering underneath the giant rotting pizza but, hey, seeing topside didn’t seem too bad either. <em> Damn.  </em></p><p>Reno admitted to the guilt.</p><p>Shinra went too far. Rude knew. Tseng knew. Reno knew, yet he again willingly bloodied his hands. <em> Like a goddamned lapdog. </em>Except Reno was no one’s lapdog—not a chance in hell. What could he have done, anyway? Say no? Maybe if you’re a fool.</p><p>But Reno was no fool; he was an actor who relished in flipping the script but still recognized his limitations. Any Turk worth their salt knew better than to refuse a mission. He had witnessed it first hand, what Shinra did to broken weapons. That’s all Turks were, anyway: weapons meant to secure the safety and wellbeing of the wretched corporation that fueled Midgar. Shinra...a miracle to some, a plague to others. For Reno? A purpose.</p><p>Don’t get him wrong—of course he didn’t buy their bullshit. It’s all a big show, you see. Reno knew the stakes, but it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose...maybe not then. He had grown soft and hated himself for it. The Turks, despite their differences, were family. <em> His </em> family. You would never pry that foreign word out of him, but Reno truly respected his colleagues. Rude, Elena, Tseng...</p><p>At the end of the day, Reno knew he wouldn’t have it any other way. And he knew the current remorse restricting his being like a serpent would soon come to pass. Another grim day gone, another cruel mission to be executed. It irked him, but Tseng was right—<em>someone had to do it. </em></p><p>So Reno let himself have this night, just this once, to unpack and repack. Fuck forgiveness—he neither asked for it nor wanted it. What good did that ever do anyone? Sure as hell won’t change anything. Reno dropped the plate on Sector 7, crushing thousands of people and effectively disrupting and damaging the lives of thousands more; he’d carry that weight like any other. That’s all he could do. </p><p>Unsteady fingers probed the empty box of cigarettes until Reno realized he had smoked the whole goddamned pack just now. Sighing, he gazed upon the hollow midnight sky, eyes flickering across the night in search of starlight. It was hard to tell. Even topside, the smog still obscured the sky in some spots, casting a faint veil over the fluorescent city. </p><p>His eyes grew hot and heavy—filled to the brim with salty tears far beyond his control. Reno sat still, expressionless as they silently fell; he did not look away from the muddled sky. A dry laugh fell dead upon his lips.</p><p>
  <em> Turks don’t cry. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wanted to expand upon the FF7R scene we got of the Turks following the Sector 7 plate drop and particularly upon Reno, who is one of my favorite characters. I have not written anything in ages but had to share how I perceived him handling the aftermath, so if you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! :^)</p><p>*Also, the title is definitely a Cowboy Bebop reference.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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